


A Strange World Known

by MarMarZiu



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Apathetic Harry Potter, M/M, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Master of Death Harry Potter, Multi, Obscurus (Harry Potter), Pre-Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Slow Burn, Study of Ancient Runes (Harry Potter), Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-23 05:01:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30050286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarMarZiu/pseuds/MarMarZiu
Summary: He had always been different from 'normal' people. It was when they whispered about ‘the boy who lived’, he knew that to them he would always be 'other'.And he walked into the Veil of Death, knowing that there wasn’t anything left of him to live.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Comments: 11
Kudos: 76





	1. Descension of a Mortal

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first fic and I'm really inexperienced so please mind the grammar and you have been warned (recommendations/critiques are welcome I guess?) 
> 
> Major events of years 1-7 may have been sped up to be before year 4. 
> 
> (heavily inspired by Memento Mori (orphan account) and Child of war in times of peace (TheSecondMouse)

The first memories that _freak_ can recall are of dark, cramped spaces - _the cupboard,_ his mind supplies. _It was cold there. Both his stomach and heart were hollow, starved of affection and food._

In the beginning, he remembers thinking that there was something wrong with him. _His Aunt yelled at him when tiger lilies started to sprout in her garden and her fine china floated around the house, his Uncle hurt him until he remembered to_ **_know_ ** _it was bad rather than to ask_ **_why_ ** _._

_He would curl into the darkness and find comfort in it when it would whisper to him words of support and offers of vengeance._ **_Freak_ ** _would dream of a boy that looked like him with murky white eyes._

When he went to school for the first time, a teacher called him ‘Harry’. _Freak -_ Harry - didn’t realize that the teachers were talking to him until they started looking at him the same way his Aunt and her friends looked at people that they were whispering about when they thought nobody was listening.

_He went to sleep that night and saw the murky-eyed boy again. He talked about how the teachers told him his name was ‘Harry’. The murky-eyed boy asked him if he liked what they called him. Harry thought that if he were to have a name that it would be of a great conqueror like Charlemagne - and that’s what he told the boy._

_‘What’s yours?’ he asked the boy._

_‘I'm named after you.’ is all the boy replied with._

_Harry thought that someone with eyes like a monster from legends would have a name just as special._

_‘I think Perseus would suit you.’ yes, eyes like a monster but named after the slayer of them._

_‘Then you are Perseus.’ the boy said._

_Harry - or is it Perseus ( **freak?** ) -_ _was confused, and must have shown because the boy kept talking._

_‘I am no one, you are Harry, but together we can be Perseus.’ the boy continued._

_They stared at each other. The moment felt endless._

_‘Okay.’_

When he woke up that morning, he knew that the boy would never come back. He wasn’t Harry anymore, _they_ were Perseus (even if only they knew that). 

From that day on everything became different, _clearer._ Perseus began to _see_ and _understand. Perseus was different. Harry_ wanted to pretend that he was normal. _Petunia and Vernon wanted to pretend that he was normal_ and when that didn’t work, they tried to _make_ him normal. 

They would scream how magic didn’t exist, but what power was it that he had if not magic? Perseus wouldn’t listen to their lies ( _Harry might’ve_ ). 

The next time was the last time Petunia or Vernon would hurt him. _They became scared of him (as did their child)._

It wasn’t ideal but the fear was a welcome change compared to the pain. So while he also longed for the comfort of the darkness and protection that _the cupboard_ could give him, the air of his new bedroom wasn’t filled with cobwebs nor his body painted with violence (and he knew this was for the best). 

The years passed like that. The Dursleys feared him but left him alone, and he, in turn, did the same. This routine was kept the same until July 24th, 1991. 

A letter came in the mail and Perseus learnt that there was a whole _world of magic._

* * *

If there was anything that Perseus learnt from the Dursleys, it was that he was strange. And while he may not care anymore, Perseus has always _understood_ that he was different _._ So, when thrust into a world so fundamentally different from the one he’s used to, Perseus expected to be a rather tame oddity but it seemed that even in the wizarding world he was _different_.

His **_name_** was plastered on the covers of books and people whispered about his arrival. It’s was all very exhausting. _He resents it. He resents_ ** _them._** _How dare they be fed with their silver spoons while he’s had to starve._

They whispered about him in the halls. ‘ ** _Ravenclaw?_ ** _Is he even a_ **_Potter?_** _’_ they would say when they thought he wasn’t listening.

He found solace in the library, learning new branches of magicks, and often found himself exploring the serene castle at night.

* * *

 _It was edging close to the morning hours when Perseus found a room that housed items lost to time. An object found in that room, had_ **_called_ ** _to him, sang lullabies to soothe his wayward soul._

It called to his magic, the part of him that laid hidden from everyone but himself. Perseus was no fool, anything that called to your magic, the very core of your being - _your soul_ \- was potentially dangerous and no matter how it easily calmed his sleepless nights, he _would_ be a fool to think it so innocent.

For the next few weeks, Perseus scoured for books on soul magic - finding almost nothing. The Hogwarts library, _a place of knowledge famed for its collection_ , had been so disgustingly marginalized that few books even mentioned magics of the soul.

It was then that Perseus thought to check the restricted section, for surely Hogwarts wouldn’t just _throw the books away_ and what else would the restricted section be for?

It took a while, but Perseus eventually found _something_ that was useful. 

_Horcrux._ That was what the object - _Tiara? -_ was called. A piece of someone’s soul - _who’s?_

* * *

It may have been considered a Ravenclaw stereotype, but Perseus _did_ like reading (and therefore libraries) and you could always learn something new in them.

_It was after Perseus learnt of horcruxes and he was sitting inside the library. A girl with messy brown hair -_ Granger - _and a boy with bright red hair and freckles to match, - a Weasley - were arguing (which was quite typical between the two, especially during class). There was another boy sitting with them - Longbottom? - that looked like he wanted to let the floor swallow him whole and disappear._

_‘Nicholas Flamel, is the only known maker of the Philosopher’s stone!’ Granger exclaimed._

_‘The what?’ said the Weasley while Longbottom adopted a look of vague recognition._

_‘Oh, honestly, don’t you read? Look - read that, there.’ She says._

_After that, they quieted down, but Perseus could hear the occasional word or two. They whispered about ‘the three-headed dog’ and ‘the third floor corridor’._

And that was how Perseus learnt that apparently Hogwarts was housing the famed Philosopher’s stone in the corridor on the third floor. 

‘ _A valuable asset_ ’ he thought, and if it was just sitting there..? It was probably morally wrong to steal it but so was starving children in cupboards.

During the Yule break, Perseus went to gather the stone. It was perfect, really, no teachers or students to question his whereabouts and no responsibility to attend classes. 

The measures that were taken to guard the stone were _laughably_ easy, and that was troubling. _Why_ could a first year student be able to gather the stone? It was almost as if someone _wanted_ for that to happen. It was more than a little disturbingly suspicious. 

* * *

_On one morning during Yule there was a package labeled ‘_ **_Harry’_ ** _._

_He knew that it was for him even if he resented the acknowledgement of someone that didn’t exist anymore. His body felt as if it would burst into flames with the rage he felt - the pure, unadulterated_ **_anger_ ** _he had experienced in that moment, threatened to choke him with bile -_ **_The audacity_ ** _of whoever returned his family’s heirloom, the expectation of_ **_gratefulness_ ** _for such thievery? He knew of none that would give him anything, except for the headmaster who was unnervingly interested in his life (and he would make him_ **_pay_** _)._

* * *

It was rather embarrassing to admit but Perseus hadn’t realized that there was the same pull he felt from the crown in Professor Quirrell. He had been distracted because of the revelation of the existence of magic, but now he could sense the similar feeling - if somewhat muted in comparison. 

On the final day of class he asked. 

‘ _You’re not Professor Quirrell, are you?’ asked Perseus (which may not have been the smartest thing to say, but he was feeling cocky after retrieving the stone)._

‘ _M-mr. P-potter, w-whatever do you m-mean?’_

‘ _You have two… magical signatures, sir’ He said unsuredly, trying to find the proper words._

_There was some whispering that was too faint for Perseus to understand until -_

_‘Let me speak to him.’ a hoarse voice called._

_‘Master you are not strong enough!’ Quirrell tried, in vain._

_‘I have strength enough for thissss.’ rebuked the voice._

_Then Quirrell began to unravel his turban only to reveal a face…_

_“Harry Potter… we meet again.’ Perseus could only show a look of distaste to convey his feelings on_ **_that_ ** _name..._

The rest of the meeting was a blur. Quirrell was killed, but Perseus could only assume that… Voldemort… had lived. The horcrux would keep Voldemort alive, and as long as Perseus continued to live he would only be hunted. It was kill or _be_ killed and Perseus wouldn’t allow himself to die so desperately, before he even got a _chance_ to live. _He would not be the hunted._

* * *

The next few years passed in much of the same fashion; destroy horcruxes, avoid Dumbledore, keep grades up. He had met Sirius Black in second year, who happened to be both a criminal on the run and apparently his godfather? Perseus couldn’t bring himself to care all that much, he had made sure that Petunia and Vernon understood that they had to obey him ( _lest there be consequences_ ) and therefore didn’t need whatever Black was trying to provide. 

Perseus didn’t _like_ to be understanding and sympathetic but he had _tried_ , for Black’s sake ( _or maybe he wanted someone to_ **_understand_** ). After one too many time’s being called ‘ _Harry_ ’ (or Merlin forbid, _James_ ), he decided that it wasn’t worth it. 

_Maybe no one would understand. Maybe he_ **_was_ ** _a freak._

He wasn’t _happy_ when Black died but he wasn’t exactly _sad._ It was like learning about the death of a stranger (which was practically what they were). When Dumbledore died in the summer of his third year, he felt two things. Anger; he wanted to return the pain Dumbledore had given him (and more). Amusement; it served him right to die because of a horcrux made by Voldemort. So he took the horcrux and Dumbledore’s wand. The horcrux, to insure its destruction. The wand, because he wanted to take something from Dumbledore like how he had taken _\- so much -_ from Perseus (and what is more personal, _more protected_ , than one’s wand?). 

* * *

With so many deaths recently it would seem that Voldemort (or maybe his followers?) was moving swiftly, following the destruction of his horcruxes. 

He was put into some tournament that feasted on the pain of the contestants. _It was strange. Some looked at him with jealousy, others had looks of awe and respect, there were even those with words of scorn. They thought he wanted the opportunity to die? After everything he has done to barely even survive? He wanted to laugh. He was put into a tournament that he_ **_shouldn’t_ ** _even be able to be in,_ **_shouldn’t_ ** _have the skills necessary to compete, and was_ **_expected_ ** _to survive._

_He had felt numb. He just didn’t care, it was all too much._

He dueled Voldemort during the third task. They both died. His _Bombarda Maxima_ clashed with the green of the killing curse. 

_The graveyard had been painted red when Voldemort’s body rained down in little bits. Perseus laid on the ground feeling emptiness that seeped into his very bones, much like before he had demanded the obedience of Petunia and Vernon - when they had starved him._

* * *

The rest of his Hogwarts years passed with the same emptiness. He left the clutches of Petunia and Vernon and moved into one of the Black’s various properties. Even if he didn’t _like_ the man, Black was still technically his godfather and Perseus would still use what was left for him. 

He moved from each estate (both Potter and Black) and read. He ate through the libraries hoping to find _something_ that might make him feel _anything._ His time at Hogwarts was spent equally in the library and in the chamber of secrets. The basilisk - _Velkya_ \- would care for him. ‘ _You are a hatchling in need of care and so I shall give it to you.’_ and so he gained a snake mother. 

Velkya was warm like a nice summer day, despite her cold blood. He was content with her. It was different from the blank he felt otherwise but he wanted to feel _happy_ (Perseus thought he deserved it after everything). 

There were O’s on all of his OWLs and NEWTs and he distantly wondered if that was a record but thought better of it. When he graduated he became an Unspeakable and also took Velkya to keep her with him in an expandable bag because _he couldn’t leave her alone and he wanted her close,_ **_always._ **

He became an Unspeakable for more selfish reasons ( _if he could even feel that anymore_ ). The Unspeakables knew things that weren’t available to the public and they were the closest he would get to learning _anything._

It had been three years since he had become an Unspeakable and Perseus hadn’t learnt anything new. _Nothing._ Even after three years of delving into the most obscure of magics. Perseus thought he would exist like this until he died. He didn’t want to _exist_ , he wanted to _live._

And he walked into the Veil of Death, knowing that there wasn’t anything left of him to live. 


	2. Take Flight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all for reading this and all of the kudos! (I'm actually really surprised that so many people enjoyed the first chapter, I'll try my best!)

He awoke to a room of white. 

It wasn’t really a room and Perseus didn’t wake up either. It was like he suddenly came into existence, into a field of white. There weren’t any walls but the colour felt endless. 

**“Hello.”**

A deep voice spoke with an underlying tone of warmth that betrayed the commanding sound and Perseus tensed. 

**“Do not fear me, Master.”** the voice spoke in soothingly. 

‘ _I walked through the Veil of Death, would that make this the afterlife? Am I dead? If I'm dead then what is calling me master?_ **_Why_ ** _is it calling me master?’_ different scenarios ran through his mind.

**“Yes, you are dead. No mortal can live after walking through the Veil of Death, not even you, Master.”**

_‘It could hear his thoughts.’_ ****

**“I can.”** _it_ spoke in what seemed like a voice of amusement. 

“And you are?” Perseus asked tentatively. 

**“I am Death, and you are my Master.”** it - _they_ \- said in a way that left no other argument.

“I-what? How? This doesn’t make any sense, _I should be dead.”_ Perseus arms motioned to the vast expanse of nothingness to emphasize his point. 

He paused. It had been years since he felt anything but the vague contentment with his snake mother, Velkya, or the emotionless void he was usually. He felt… _confused._ Perhaps it wasn’t one of the ‘nicer emotions’ but it felt _better_ than what he had grown accustomed to. 

**“In my youth,”** Perseus suspected that this wasn’t a term he should associate with a decade or two because _what the hell is considered youth for a primordial being?_ **“I had created three unique objects and infused them with the essence of death. These objects were gifted to three mortals”** They - _Death_ \- paused here, in what seemed like annoyance. **“And would be passed through the hands of countless others, disguised as priceless heirlooms or stolen from one mortal to another.”**

“I hadn’t-” he began to say before three items appeared. Perseus’ eyes widened - surprise, another emotion that he had forgotten - _he recognized them._

**“The Death stick, the unbeatable wand. The stone of resurrection that allows the user to commune with the dead. The cloak of invisibility which allows one to hide from even death.”**

_“The Deathly Hallows?”_ Perseus choked out. “It’s… it’s a fairytale?” He stared in front of him as the objects floated innocently, as if they weren't… Voldemort’s horcrux, Dumbledore’s wand or his family’s heirloom. 

**“They say that all myths come from a place of truth, Master.”**

“I didn’t- I _don’t_ ” he couldn’t even string any words together. He took a breath. “I just… wanted to _live?_ I don’t want… this… _responsibility.”_

**“Your soul had been so intertwined with Voldemort’s that you will never feel whole in your time again.”** Death stated bluntly.

“ _My_ time?” the blatant confusion was definitely bleeding through to his voice now.

**“In any time that there is death, The Master may follow.”**

“Time travel? Truly?”

**“But of course, Master.”**

“And then? Is there any purpose to all of this?” 

**“Find a purpose, Master. For so long have you danced to the whims of another and been denied, do what you want.”**

“What of Velkya? What of you? What of _me?_ ” he certainly couldn’t be ‘ _Harry Potter’_ , lest he be accused of line theft or bastardy. 

**“Velkya will live in any time before your death-”**

“She will not be _mine._ ” possessiveness leaked into his words like venom. It was often times like these - times before he felt blank - that he wondered if such possessiveness came from himself or were instead qualities of Voldemort.

**“Nor will anyone else, is that not the point?”** _‘to start anew’_ went unsaid.

It was. He would be free to live as he pleased but Velkya had _claimed_ him as hers (and he in turn had done the same) and he felt a _oneness_ with her. 

**“You will merely need to bond with her again.”**

He begrudgingly acquiesced to that and was going to ask about the other things he mentioned but before he could voice that-

**“I will be with you whenever you require, you need only call, Master.”**

“I meant, would you be alright?” 

**“I would be most pleased to see you happy. Our union as master and servant had been predicted before the beginnings of humans and as the personification of death I exist only to serve you.”**

“I-” Perseus didn’t even know how to respond to that. It sounded a bit too fanatical for his tastes - _like Voldemort,_ his mind whispered - and he had learnt to just accept fanatics (he briefly remembered a Gryffindor that was fond of taking pictures of him and while he destroyed photos and the camera itself, he had given up on the hero worship, so long as the boy stayed away from him). “Okay.”

**“You will be given a new name.”** yes, it _would_ be dangerous to walk around with the name of a prominent pureblood family.

“I don’t… want to be a mere piece in a legacy.” There were many perks to being the heir to a wealthy pureblood household but if you weren’t identified as ‘ _the boy who lived’_ you were reduced to your last name. People like ‘Pansy Parkinson' and ‘Draco Malfoy’ were merely another name added to the long list of ancestry.

**“You will always have Peverell blood even if that is not your last name.”**

He felt lighter. The affirmation of his own heritage and the assurance of having something to fall back on. The promise that he could be great without a name, _something he has craved desperately._

**“Perseus Delivente.”**

He blinked. “What?”

**“Your name.”**

“I- why?” had he known? _Does he know_ _about-_

**“It would be rude to change your name.”** It seemed that Death really was all knowing.

“Delivente?” the newly christened Perseus asked.

**“Ah. Admittedly, that is latin and a portmanteau** (see end notes) **. I wish to have a claim over you as you have of me.”** the being said unashamedly.

“Deli..?”

**“Delitor.”**

“Latin for both avenger and obliterator. Avenger… Voldemort. I am unaware of what I have obliterated though?” Perseus’ face scrunched up a bit in confusion.

**“Death is often claimed to be the ultimate destruction of man.”**

It was a bit amusing to find that an all powerful being that predates the existence of consciousness was so dramatic but instead Perseus just asked, “and Vente?”

**“Favente, latin for favour. You hold the favour of Death as it’s Master.”**

“Thank you.” Perseus truly meant it. For once, it really felt as if everything might be alright. 

There was a sudden realization and- “I can’t look like a Potter.”

**“You cannot.”**

He felt unsure, changing something that was so strongly interwoven with his identity. “What would be changed?”

**“The scarring and malnourishment. You’ll be taller, eventually, and perhaps your hair will take on a darker shade of blonde. Thinner lips. A stronger jaw, more aristocratic. Your eyes, those, will stay but when it’s finished you’ll be a modern Adonis.”**

It was starting to seem like Death took pleasure in the embarrassment he could derive from Perseus.

“What of the Hallows? If I go back in time… what will happen to them?” _‘to me?’_ he meant to ask, but felt unsure of how deep the connection between him and the Hallows ran. 

**“They shall continue to exist. Wherever they are, that is where they shall stay, until you lay claim to them. For even if another holds them, you will be their only** **_true_ ** **Master, the only one that may command them and make them bend to your every wish.”**

That sounded a bit intense but if Perseus had learnt anything about the personification of Death, it was of the intensity that they held in their every action. 

There was only one question that Perseus had but he was hesitant to ask, to lay his deepest secret and core of his being bare.

“Will I still…” he trailed off.

**“You aren’t an obscurus.”**

For what felt like an hour (but was probably only ten seconds) it was as if the world was still and suddenly _very_ aware of how his breath stopped and the slight dampness of his palms.

**“Oh, my dear Master, _you_ are something entirely different. It seems like the horcrux has made you into a variant of an obscurus, a variant that can use magic and is stronger than the others. The only of your kind.”**

It looked liked Perseus’ _freakishness_ would follow him even into _Death_.

**“Ready, Master?”**

  
Mentally, no. If this somehow turned out to be a dream caused by inhaling too many fumes from the Unspeakables’ newest experiment, he wouldn’t be surprised. In what was probably only an hour long conversation at most, Perseus has gone through more emotions than he has felt in more than half a decade but he _needed_ this so he just nodded his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A portmanteau is a combination of two words, for example, combining crunchy and slimy to make 'slunchy'


	3. St. Maria's

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy! :)

The air was crisp. There was a bit of a chill but that was expected for weather that was nearing winter. It was still autumn but lately the weather seemed to be in a bit of a mood, the sky often clouded with grey. At night the sky was clear though. The darkness would cascade into the distance and Nancy Perkins wished she could run away into the night, never to be heard from again. She didn’t like taking care of children but her family didn’t have money and it was some of the only work a woman could get. She hated that she worked so her brother could get a better education and _make something of himself_ while she would be forgotten. Even the children at the orphanage had gotten better schooling than she did as a child. She might have gotten a _family_ but the orphans would eventually be able to leave this dump - _unlike her_. So Nancy hated them. She hated the children at this _godforsaken_ orphanage, hated her parents, hated her brother and hated that she was so helpless - _She resented the children and would make sure they knew that._

Nancy would walk these halls for the rest of her life. It was a prison. She was both the warden and an inmate. When Nancy would go outside that morning for a smoke she would find a child on the doorstep and think that another life would be doomed to serve out their time here as well.

* * *

Perseus Delivente would grow up to be a strange child. His name would be the only thing he truly owned in the orphanage as a young kid, written on a slip of paper and the only thing to accompany him in the slight chill of autumn. The other children had looked at him with fear for it is within human nature to fear the unknown, for that reason Perseus had always felt a certain resonance with the ocean (perhaps he’ll become an animagus and discover the true depths of the waters in this life). 

Fear breeds violence, a concept that Perseus was intimately familiar with and so it was no surprise when the older children decided to _deal_ with him. 

_‘Oi freak!’ one of them shouted at him._

_It was nearing dinner and Perseus was sitting under the shade of a tree, reading a book about British trading history - it wasn’t very interesting but the only other options were similar books or_ **_fairy tales._ ** _They were only two or three years older than him but at five, they overshadowed him greatly._

_Perseus merely raised an eyebrow. His silence seemed to anger them though because another older boy - David, he absently remembered - stepped forward._

_‘Freaks like you’ve got to be put in their place.’ his face was flushed in anger and his fists tightened until the knuckles turned white._

_Perseus only sighed. It would seem that five years of tenuous and relative peace would be his only mercy. David wound up his arm and went to punch him. Perseus hardly flexed his fingers and all three of the older children were strung up in the air, clutching at their throats in an attempt to breathe. He watched them struggle until their faces went red from anger to blue from lack of oxygen. They writhed like bugs and he unceremoniously dropped them back onto the ground. The other children had already gone inside to eat and it would have been quiet outside if it weren’t for the sounds of harsh breathing coming from the three older kids coughing up on the grass. Perseus started making his way to the old grey stone orphanage but paused._

_‘I would hope that you learn your lesson. Once you’re done, come inside, it’s dinner.’ and he left._

From then on, the workers watched him with wary eyes. For the most part, the children stayed away from him in their fear - _those who didn’t would learn why they should._ The head matron, Ms. Perkins, didn’t hide her disdain for him and the other workers often followed suit. Be it harsh punishment or the unjust seizure of privileges, Ms. Perkins would act out her own “ _justice”._ It was really just the bottled up anger and resentment that she held, Perseus knew that, but he still held her in contempt. 

_‘Perhaps it would be redundant to punish her like a misbehaving dog_ ’ Perseus thought. _‘Her hatred would only grow to be more dangerous if he watered it by acting but malice often grew like a weed regardless.’_

Instead of suffering under the matron’s hand, he would layer his magic over her mind. Coating it like a thick blanket, hazing her conscious and suppressing her desires to raise a hand against him. The matron would still remember her hatred for him and would speak freely of it but no physical harm would befall him by her actions, and that was all the insurance he would need. Perseus would later use the same compulsions on the other workers of the orphanage for further precaution. 

* * *

Perseus had been careless. While Christianity was a large part of many lives in the muggle world of the 90’s, it had never been as extreme as in the 50’s. 

_It was late March in 1964 - Perseus had turned 9 in November. The children were required to pray and go to church in formal clothing. The church would supply them with books and educate them and they would practice their religion, Perseus thought it a fair trade (as much as he detested it). He had grown used to the strange looks and over time had begun to think nothing of them -_ **_never again._ **

_‘Come, child.’ one of the sisters said in a stern voice and grabbed him harshly by the shoulders, uncaring of the bruises her grip would give him._

_She led him to a separate room in the church with only Pastor James and two other priests. The sister that led him to the room had ungraciously shoved him into it and scurried off. The air was musty in there. It was strange that the room was dark since the church was proud of the large stained glass windows that depicted biblical scenes and were available to the public during mass. This room was very reminiscent of evil gothic mansions that housed creatures of evil and were depicted in stories that adults told children to scare them into eating their vegetables. There was a bed in the middle of the room that seemed out of place with the clutter of forgotten things that surrounded it. The only source of light was a candlestick. The glow of the candle danced around the room, the shadows on the faces of Pastor James and the priests becoming more pronounced._

_‘Sit here, child.’ the pastor commanded and motioned to the bed._

_Perseus tensed. He knew that something was going to happen -_ **_something bad_ ** _\- but didn’t know precisely what. He crept to the bed, slow enough to draw it out but fast enough to not be commented on, and sat on the right side in order to face the pastor. They stared at each other, Pastor James looking him over like Petunia would degenerates and Perseus regarding the pastor with caution. There was movement on both sides of Perseus but before he could move the priests grabbed his wrists. Their grip on him was similar to how he used to mercilessly tear weeds from Petunia’s garden. They bound his arms and legs to the bed using rope without remorse._

_Perseus huffed out his laughter as they began to chant. He didn’t know why he had expected any different. Fear of the unknown. He had been so caught up in the comparative peace and search for a greater purpose that he had disregarded such dangers. He hadn’t felt so foolish in quite some time. They chanted louder._

_Perseus burnt the ropes, leaving marks on his wrists (he couldn’t be bothered to care). They started shouting, one of the priests grabbed a cane and was going to hit him but Perseus flicked his hand and everyone in the room fell like puppets with cut strings._

_‘God’s little puppets.’ he scoffed._

_In his distraction he had forgotten of the church. Perseus had forgotten to add the same compulsions he had used on the workers at the orphanage onto those at the church._

**_‘Of course they would notice!’_ ** _he felt like a fool._

After that, there were no more exorcisms. 

* * *

St. Maria’s Orphanage was built of grey stone and dark coloured shingles. There was a metal fencing that surrounded the property. The structure itself had two floors, a basement for storage and was built in a ‘U’ shape. The windows were unable to open, leaving the rooms unbearably hot in the summer. The building housed 63 children from the ages of 3-18 and the courtyard was often filled with them playing. In the back, there was a garden that the residents used to grow food in the warmer months. The iron fence that created a border for the children was large enough to include a minor forest and even some smaller hills. 

Although the forest resided within the property, it was quite dangerous and most of the children stayed away from it. Perseus did not. In fact, he often wandered through the forest. Some days he merely stared at the sun as it set and on others he would search for the company of a snake. There was a small cliff that hung over a stream in the forest that Perseus liked to stand over and watch as the water trickled down. Today was one of those days. Immersed in the stream, Perseus hadn’t seen the person following him until he was shoved off the cliff and falling. 

He felt the blood drain from his body as he died. He felt his skull break against one of the rocks that laid by the stream. He felt himself dying and watched as his vision slowly faded to black. As quickly as the world turned dark, everything came into view in a sudden blast of colour. It was so immediate that Perseus spent a while adjusting. He felt the back of his head, searching for evidence of _whatever the hell just happened_ and found nothing. 

Perseus barked a dry laugh tinged with bitterness. _It seemed that ‘The Master of Death’ was more than just a title after all._

Next week, one of the older children broke their dominant arm, forcing them to learn to write with the other. Ms. Perkins would make sure that he wouldn't be adopted but Perseus only smiled.

* * *

Minerva stepped out from the alleyway that she had apparated into. It was surprisingly hot for June, typically the _real_ scorching weather didn’t begin until well into July. Minerva has gone to the muggle world each year since she had become deputy headmistress as it was her duty to introduce new muggleborns to the magical world. She rarely walked around in the muggle world but it always seemed a tad different from each year.

The address of the muggleborn this time was that of an orphanage. It was slightly concerning as Minerva knew from years of working with children of how cruel they could be and muggles were especially unaccepting of the unusual. She sighed. As she walked through the iron gates of St. Maria’s, Minerva couldn’t help but feel a sense of foreboding. _It was as if the entire building was covered in a layer of magic, similar to that of compulsions, but that would be impossible._

When Minerva met the head matron, Ms. Perkins, she had made polite but idle conversation. Minerva then told the matron of the scholarship that Mr. Devlivente received to attend her school, Ms. Perkins didn’t seem surprised. Minerva wondered whether Mr. Delivente was quite intelligent or if the head matron didn’t care. The matron adopted a sour look of distaste and commented on the _unholy_ nature of the child. The professor had hoped that Mr. Delivente would not have been raised with such ideals as they would greatly conflict with the nature of the magical world. The Christianity that muggleborns were often raised with would cause discord with a large majority of various magical aspects. 

After some simple magic to convince Ms. Perkins of the documentation, she was led to the room of Perseus Delivente. It was on the second floor, at one of the ends of the building. The hallway was painted with dark colours and couldn’t even begin to compare to the magnificent architecture of Hogwarts.

“Here it is.” the matron spoke before quickly leaving. 

The lack of care coming from the matron herself was becoming rather worrisome. Room 32, the end of the left building on the second floor, just as the letter stated. Minerva knocked on the door and waited for a response.

“Come in.” the voice inside the room said and Minerva entered.

She opened the plain oak door to a boy with dark blond hair and vivid green eyes, his features were gentle but he was sure to be attractive when he grew older. The room itself was on the smaller size and was sparsely furnished. It contained only a single window with plain gray curtains. In the corner, there was a desk holding a lamp and a oak chair to match it. There was a wardrobe on the left of the bed that didn’t match any of the other furnishings. The boy, Mr. Delivente, sat on a bed with french gray covers in simple but slightly formal clothing. His feet were hanging off of the edge of the bed and were covered with formal black shoes. _Now Minerva really hoped his formal wear didn’t have any connection to Christianity because that would make this a_ **_lot harder._ **

“Who are you, Miss?” The young boy spoke. 

“Hello, I’m Professor Mcgonagall.” 

“Professor?” the boy tilted his head and questioned. 

“Professor of transfiguration at Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry.” she simply stated. 

“Witchcraft, Professor?” he asked, searching her face for confirmation.

“That is correct, Mr. Delivente. Witchcraft, _magic_ , is real and you are a Wizard.” Minerva would always be a Gryfindor and while adept at the dance of conversation from working at the ministry, she preferred to be direct. 

He raised an eyebrow and titled his head slightly again. Minerva sighed and brought her wand out.

“A wand will channel the magic inside you, they are deeply personal as they reflect yourself in the materials they are made of and while wandless magic is possible, it is also very difficult.” Minerva informed - she would always be a teacher, first and foremost.

She twirled the tip of her wand in a circular motion and cast ‘avis’. A dozen birds came flying out of her wand and flew around the room. Mr. Delivente’s eyes widened and his mouth opened in a small ‘o’ shape. When the birds began to claw at the curtains and window she vanished them.

The boy’s face was blank but his eyes held a wonder that she hadn’t seen in him until now. 

“It seems I would be inclined to believe you, Professor.” she huffed a small breath of laughter and quirked a slight smile. 

Minerva handed him his letter for Hogwarts and said “As I previously mentioned, Hogwarts is a school of magic. There, you will be taught how to properly wield your power. This letter will contain the supply list for your school year and directions to Diagon Alley where you can buy them, seeing as you don’t have a specific guardian.” she paused to confirm he was listening to take you.“There are funds set for those who cannot afford the supplies at Gringotts, the Wizarding bank. Do you have any questions, Mr. Delivente?”

“No. Thank you, Professor.” 

Minerva nodded her head and said “We will await your arrival.” She turned to leave and her robes twirled along with her. 

* * *

Once the professor had left, Perseus turned to stare at his torn curtains. The temperature in the room dropped and frost decorated the inside of his window. Perseus took a breath and waved his hand over the curtains to fix them. The frost melted and the room warmed up to the regular temperature. There was so little that he owned as an orphan and the damage she had caused had been forgotten by Professor McGonagall - _it would not be forgotten by him_.


	4. Diagon

Even though he had seen and walked through Diagon countless times before, the passageway had always made him smile and think of better times. There was an innocence in the magic at Diagon. The Ministry was still biased against dark magic in these times but that didn’t take away from the beauty of the alley. 

As the bricks in the pub of The Leaky Cauldron opened to reveal the magical world, the light from the alley stung Perseus’ eyes. The dark of the pub would always come into great contrast with all of the wild colours in Diagon - he missed it ( _he missed **this**_ ). 

It had been only a few days after Professor McGonagall visited and was currently June 12th. The weather wasn’t as hot as when the professor had visited but was warm enough to forgo a jacket. 

Perseus made his way to Gringotts, careful to avoid the groups of peoples that were scattered around the pathways. Diagon was filled with families and students doing their shopping for the next Hogwarts year and other miscellaneous purchasing. He arrived at the steps to the Wizarding bank and looked on to the imposing building. The white marble structure along with the menacing phrase carved into gold certainly held a threatening aura. 

Perseus entered the bank and waited until one of the tellers became free. He walked forward. The goblin at the desk continued doing their work and so he took that as permission to speak.

“Greetings, may your coffers continue to collect gold, Master Goblin.” the goblin’s quill twitched and they looked up. The goblin had seemed surprised at the traditional greeting but Perseus was nothing if not thorough with his research.

“May your coffers continue to collect gold, Wizard. What is your business at Gringotts?” 

“I would like to inquire about receiving a Hogwarts school loan.” While Perseus often preferred the dance of politics and words, the goblins liked to be direct - _polite_ but direct. 

“Hogwarts loans are available to first through seventh years. You will be given 125 galleons at the start of the year through Gringotts and will be expected to use that until the next year.” 

The goblin stepped down from their desk and started walking through the ornate hallways of the bank. Perseus followed. They reached an office that had ‘Master Goblin Hooktooth’ carved into a gold nameplate on the door and he followed the goblin - whom he presumed to be Hooktooth - inside the room. The office had two black leather chairs facing opposite of each, separated by an elaborately carved mahogany desk. Perseus sat while Hooktooth went through the desk until the goblin placed a few papers, a quill and a blade in front of him. 

“Sign your name on this form and let three drops of blood fall onto the paper.” Hooktooth commanded. 

Perseus did. He smiled as he looked at his signature, ‘Perseus Delivente’ in an elegant script. 

The goblin snatched up the paper and handed him a pouch. 

“This,” Hooktooth pointed at the neatly stitched bag that had the Gringotts coat of arms embroidered onto it, “is an expandable bag and contains your funds for the school year. Do. Not. Lose. It. Gringotts will _not_ replace it.” Hooktooth gave him a nearly murderous look that conveyed exactly what the goblin thought of foolish wizards and witches that expected a replacement for something they lost. 

Perseus nodded and said “Thank you, Master Goblin Hooktooth. May your enemies fall to your blade.” 

The goblin stared at him for a while but eventually responded, “May your enemies fall to your blade, young Wizard.”

Perseus smiled in a toothy fashion that was downright hostile and Hooktooth returned the gesture. He left the Peverell vault untouched. Perseus would achieve everything by his own power, not because of some _name_. 

* * *

125 galleons wouldn’t be enough to get first grade items but it would be enough to get decent supplies and still have some money left over. Perseus went to gather his potions supplies first as it seemed the flow of people were gravitating away from that area. He bought a reasonable cauldron for 10 galleons and some brewing equipment for 5. They would both probably need to be replaced the next year when the more volatile potions were being brewed but he would have more money to spare if he reused his old robes. 

Diagon alley was what most wizards and witches called all of the magical shopping area, but the alley itself had more than a few different subsections to it (like Knockturn). Diagon was the more family and school oriented side whereas places like Knockturn sold darker magicks and Horizont advertised luxury goods. Perseus had been doing his shopping in one of the side streets of Diagon, seeing as how many of them offered better deals (even if the quality wasn’t the finest). There was a nice second hand book store where Perseus could buy Hogwarts books from previous years for a lot cheaper than what would be sold in Flourish and Blotts. The newer editions wouldn’t have very much new information in them either so it would be stupid not to. 20 galleons later and he had bought all of his school books, along with some others for extracurricular reading. It seemed that there were less books banned in this time than when he had originally gone to Hogwarts. 

Rather than buy a pre-packaged potions set that was being marketed towards students, Perseus would pick them out himself. It would cost him 10 galleons and was probably a bit more expensive this way but you should never buy substandard potions ingredients, otherwise you might end up with a trip to the healer's when trying to brew. 

Perseus then spent 25 galleons on a school trunk, which was more than he would _like_ to spend but it would last him at least the first few years at Hogwarts (thus saving more money in the long run). 

Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions was often advertised as the best place to get Hogwarts robes but there were more places than there that could get the job done. Twilfitt & Tatting’s was far more expensive in comparison to Madam Malkin’s and often catered to the more affluent clientele of the Wizarding world. ‘Henderson’s’, in comparison, didn’t have a well known reputation but it _did_ make quality robes for _much_ cheaper prices. The store itself had gone largely unnoticed by the majority of magicals due to the name. Henderson’s was owned and run by a halfblood with a muggle last name and most Wizards wouldn’t be caught dead there but the customers that the shop _did_ _have_ were incredibly loyal. Perseus walked out of Henderson’s with 20 less Galleons but with enough robes to last him the year. With the light usage of a few charms, he could even use them next year. Perseus’ formal clothing that he already owned would also be useful as it wasn’t much different from the Hogwarts uniform. 

* * *

In his first life, Perseus had an owl, Hedwig. Named after the Saint of Orphans. She was a close companion, much akin to what he felt for Velkya even though Hedwig couldn’t speak to him like his snake mother could. Perseus was neither ready for another owl nor did he have enough money for one (there was also the matter of storage) but as he stared at the animals in Magical Menagerie, he couldn’t help but feel the yearning for another feathered companion. 

The final item on his agenda for the day was to buy a wand from Ollivanders and so Perseus wandered towards the cluttered building. 

* * *

He shouldn't have expected anything different

His wand would be a familiarity. Something that acknowledged his old life without grounding him to it.

The holly and phoenix feather wand would work with impeccable fluidity for him but the elder wand would always work better. After being touched by death so often and even becoming an entity intertwined with it, Death’s wand would obviously work better. 

It was a weird feeling, holding the wand that had been through the years that largely defined him and knowing there would always be a better match. He would never be _uncomfortable_ with his first wand but he might feel a reluctance to use it. It didn’t really matter, he could always use wandless magic. It would probably be better to avoid the trace using wandless magic anyways. Ollivander didn’t mention anything about brother wands this time but it was probably because Perseus lacked the physical reminder of his connection to the Dark Lord this time around. 

112 galleons lighter and Perseus had collected everything he needed for Hogwarts. After putting everything in his trunk and a quick featherweight and shrinking charm, Perseus returned to St. Maria’s. For the rest of the summer, Perseus would be in his room either reading or practicing magic, waiting for September 1st to come.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope this isn't too bad. 
> 
> the first chapter is kind of a quick sort of summary(ish) type thing of his life before? (does this make sense)
> 
> advice would be helpful, I don't know what I'm doing.


End file.
